Somebody's Chelsi: Book 5 The Wakefield Romance Series Read online

  Somebody’s Chelsi

  Book 5

  Wakefield Romance Series

  By:

  Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  Smashwords Edition License Note

  Thank you for downloading/purchasing this eBook. This eBook and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download/purchase their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

  This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Involves strong language and sexual situations.

  All parties portrayed in sexual situations are consenting adults and over the age of 18.

  All characters are fictional. Any similarities are purely coincidental.

  Published by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt at Smashwords.com

  Copyright ©2016 Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author

  Dedication

  To those who have experienced great loss. I hope that one day you can realize you’re worth loving again and that the world will always be a better place when you love others too.

  For CC, my bestie. You’re the greatest.

  To my fans:

  This book is a little different than the others in my Wakefield Series. I hope you love it as much as you enjoy the others. Thank you.

  PROLOGUE:

  Chelsi

  July 4, 2014

  The hospital is buzzing around me as I look out the waiting room doorway again, looking for any sign of Bobby, but nothing. I take a deep breath in and try and shake the queasy feeling and goose-bumps away from my skin. I hate hospitals. In my experience, they bring nothing but bad news.

  You see, the last time I was in a waiting room in a hospital was back in Norfolk where I grew up. I was just as happy as could be, waiting for a nurse to come and get me, telling me that my newlywed husband made it through his second surgery in treatment of a tumor on his brain. He had made it through the first no problem, so I wasn’t really all that worried. I was only eighteen and not ready for anything that would follow marrying Thomas Coleman.

  Watching the nurses and doctors milling around, the chatter behind me from Rhea and Chad makes me remember that day even more, and all that led up to it. Thomas and I had been high school sweethearts, only being separated for college as I went up in Pennsylvania and he stayed here in Virginia. It was only one semester apart and Tom started having really bad headaches, not being able to focus and he even passed out while walking down a staircase at school, falling and breaking his arm.

  Coming home for Christmas that year, I never thought I’d sit at Tom’s bedside and hear him tell me that he had a brain tumor, but it happened. For the first time my little world came crashing down and I cried for days, not knowing what to tell him to comfort him. On that break from school I went to every doctor’s appointment, holding his hand when his doctors told him they wanted to try a surgery and then going over all of the risks with him when we were back at his house. He decided to go through with it and I’ll always remember what he said to me as we sat at his parents’ kitchen table until the day I die.

  “So, if I make it through this I wanna marry you, Chelsi Ryder.” His dark brown eyes burned into me and he grinned, his mouth full of green beans making me think he was kidding. I just laughed it off, going back to my food, but when his hand covered mine I picked my gaze back up seeing that he was still staring at me. “I’m serious, Chels. I want you to be my wife; you’re already my everythin’. Be my everythin’ forever.”

  What girl could say no to that? So against my parents’ better judgment I dropped out of college, grabbed a full time job at a local factory, and sat in a waiting room while Tom had his first surgery. Everything went off without a hitch, they said they got all of it and that his recovery looked promising. No long lasting effects and eight months later Tom was almost back to normal, watching me walk down the aisle into his arms and becoming his wife.

  I was so happy and naïve and when I’m broken from my daydream by Dana Payne brushing past me, my smile fades into a frown remembering what came next. Sure we were happy, but blindly so. We had an amazing love life, Tom knew every inch of me and ways to make me scream out his name with only a breath. But we didn’t know what was growing inside of him until I came home from work one day to find him passed out on the floor in a pool of blood from a nose bleed.

  They ran test after test, sticking my husband with so many needles I’m sure he didn’t have an untarnished inch of flesh on his arms and hands. I hated seeing him like that, in pain every minute of every day unless I begged him to press his morphine pump. I never left him, losing my job only a week before the doctors came back and told us the tumor had grown back and that they wanted to operate again, this time followed with chemo.

  I didn’t want him to do the surgery because I didn’t want them going in there again when they had reassured us the first time that they had gotten everything and they hadn’t. I felt as if he should’ve tried option B, which was go through chemo first and see if it shrank, but Tom was a head strong type, believing in the doctor’s opinion.

  Exactly six months and two days after saying ‘I do’ to my high school sweetheart I said our normal goodbye of “See ya later” and kissed his lips for the last time; watching as they wheeled him down the hallway and behind the locked doors into the OR wing. I sat there with his parents and sister, along with a few friends, for hours; just waiting and hoping. Praying that this would work this time, but I knew as soon as the scrub clad doctor walked in with the solemn look on his face that the news he was going to deliver wasn’t good.

  My Tom, my heart, had died of a massive aneurysm in his brain while they were operating. They couldn’t explain how or why a blood clot reached his brain, he was on all types of thinners and such, but it did and he died at 4:15 that afternoon. I didn’t believe it at first; what woman would when they’ve been told their husband is dead? I told the doctor he was a liar, he had told me that everything was going to be fine, and I screamed in his face that this was his fault. I had stormed out of that hospital waiting room and ran to my car, collapsing into the driver’s seat of my shitty little Escort and crying until I couldn’t cry anymore; until my head felt like it was going to explode from the pain.

  I buried him next to his grandparents and said goodbye to his family, leaving Norfolk for Waverly and never really visiting anyone but my parents. They say that the Coleman’s ask about me when their paths cross, but I don’t ever call them or stop by their house; it’s just too hard for me still. It’s almost seven years later and I have yet to go on a date with another man. I just can’t do it. And yes, sometimes I turn to prescription drugs to handle with drowning in my memories, because I can’t be strong all the time. But I am trying to turn my shit around.

  “Hey girl,” the smooth yet scratchy, deep voice comes from my right and I lift my stare to look right into those baby blues of Austin French. This man does something to me and I try to deny it, but it’s hard. I feel that if I start something with someone, Austin French for instance, it’ll be like throwing the memory of Tom in the trash; spitting on his grave if you will and I can’t do that. Tom molded me into the woman that I am and I want to remember him for all of my life.

  “You look like you’re thinkin’ awfully hard,” he says, throwing his arm around my
shoulders and pulling me into his side. He doesn’t know what his touch does to me, setting me on fire in way I’ve never felt, but we are friends and he knows that’s what we’ll be for now, so I lean into him. He smells like Old Spice and cigars, the men enjoying a celebratory smoke at the wedding, and I take in a deep breath of Austin French, letting him linger on my senses.

  “Yeah; jus’ wondering ‘bout how long she’s gonna be in there.” I nod my head down the hall to the delivery wing and hear his light chuckle beside me, his arm squeezing me. Looking up at him, I take in his handsome face and features, including the defined body I know is hiding beneath his blue dress shirt and khaki shorts.

  He has light brown hair with greys mixed throughout, being mid-thirties, and his facial hair is trimmed to a short length along his jaw and up into a mustache. I wonder what he looks like without facial hair. More yet, I wonder what that facial hair would feel like brushing along the insides of my thighs.

  Wait, what? Where did that come from? I shake my head clear and he doesn’t notice it, which is good because I really couldn’t explain to him why I’m blushing right now without stammering out a lie.

  “Come on, girl,” he says, pulling me back inside the waiting room and over to a chair that has his light jacket draped over it, “sit with me and watch some TV. No sense in standin’ when you’ve been standin’ most of the day in the heat.”

  He motions for me to sit and leaves me for the vending machine, coming back with two ginger ales which is my favorite. He gives me a wink as I take one from him and he plops down beside me, throwing his arm over the back of my chair. I subconsciously find myself leaning into him whenever he does this because I just feel safe around him and I sit back and relax, watching re-runs of Walker on the TV and drinking my ginger ale; forgetting for a moment all of those memories this hospital dredged up, all because I’m near him.

  I don’t know how long we’ve sat here but when a rushing figure comes darting in the room, I notice my head is leaning on his shoulder and Austin’s hand is resting down near my elbow and over my back. I straighten in my seat but don’t shake his touch as Bobby’s heaving breathing runs through the now silent waiting room.

  “A seven pound boy and six pound girl. Both healthy and happy along with their mama!” The smile on his face could make anyone’s heart sing and I can’t help but laugh happily when the room bursts into cheers and congratulations. Rhea hugs me on her way by, kissing Austin on the cheek; and I don’t know why, but I lean in for a hug from him, too. As he leans in, I hug him tight and move to kiss his cheek, but he does the same and our lips meet.

  It’s like time is frozen around us and no one else is there. His kiss is warm and inviting, begging me to give him more even though his lips are as still as mine, suffering shock. I can see myself closing my eyes and losing myself in his touch, giving in to all of these naughty little thoughts that are running through my mind. But I place my hands on his cheeks and push him back slowly, breaking our lips apart.

  “Ah…I don’t know what…I’m…ah…I’m sorry.” I stammer out, feeling the blush fill my entire body and my heart is threatening to beat up and out through my mouth it’s going so fast. I take a handful of deep breaths before I can look up at him slowly; the passion and fire in the blue of his eyes taking my breath right away in a second.

  “I’m not sorry,” is all he says, kissing me on the cheek and standing to join the others, leaving me in a state of shock.

  “Well then,” I whisper to myself, straightening my dress and trying to regain my composure. I can’t deny it, though, my heart hasn’t beat this fast in years and it’s quite thrilling.

  ~~~~

  Austin

  Standing here listening to Bobby gush about his new babies, I’m doing my best to be a polite friend but my mind is swimming. Swimming in the naughty thoughts of the light green eyed and strawberry blonde haired beauty that just accidently kissed me on the lips. It’s not the first awkward encounter we’ve had because we’ve been hanging out a lot, but damn it was the first time our lips have met and it seared me to the soul.

  Chelsi has something that no other woman in my life has had. It’s this fire that I don’t think she even knows is there, but it licks at my soul, tempting me to let it consume us both. I can see the way she fights it, her heavy heart dragging her down and keeping her from letting anything except a few innocent cuddles and hand holding happen between us.

  I’ve told her time and time again that I’m here for her and that whenever she wants to talk about anything I’m down for it. I can’t even tell you how many nights we’ve sat out on my apartment’s balcony or lain in the tall grass at Rhea and Chad’s after a dinner and just talked about life. Our goals and accomplishments. Her favorite stories of mine are the childhood antics I recount to her, they always get a laugh or two.

  Raised by two working parents, I spent most of my North Carolina childhood with my aunt and cousins on the shore. I’m a beach bum of sorts that’s why I think the Navy and I have been such a good fit. I could sleep on the sand and spend every moment in the water if I was able.

  I still remember the way my mom’s eyes teared when I told her I wanted to be a sailor and did not want to go to business school like they thought I would. But her and my father always declared their pride in me whenever they had the chance after that, right up until their dying breaths. My mother died from lung cancer a year after I graduated from boot camp and my father followed her six months later from a heart attack. Memories of my childhood come flooding back, making my chest tighten a bit and I slap Bobby on the back, accepting the same in return. I bring him in for a side hug with my arm around his shoulders and tell him, “Cherish every moment with them, brother.”

  “Oh I will, ol’man.” He gives me that damn Timmons grin and I just laugh at his punk ass. He’s one SEAL that I miss tremendously on my Team. Chief and Reno are two others and I look around our little group seeing how happy these three men are. They have their families.

  Me? Nope. I’ve thought a couple of times that I found the girl to start my family with, but both times I was shot down and stabbed in the back. Up until Chelsi all the women that I let in my life were either uniform chasers, only in it because I’m a SEAL and not because they actually are interested in me, or good time gals; once they realized what my life is like and how I can be here one minute and gone on a mission the next, they moved on to the next fella.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a saint in any way. I’ve burned some relationships to the ground myself, but I love my work and when someone says it’s either them or my job, I’ll always, always, choose my job.

  It’s what I do. It’s who I am.

  If it wasn’t’ like that I wouldn’t be a Lieutenant in the United States Navy with a around ten years in the SEAL Teams, bouncing around from West Coast to East Coast and traveling the world more times than I can keep track of. I’ve seen almost everything a man can see in his lifetime. I’ve met people from every walk of life and helped them through some tough times as best as I could as a sailor. I’ve been in the middle of the desert with only a drop of water left in my canteen on a patrol and I’ve been at the top of a mountain in a snowstorm with icicles forming from my nose. When a bunch of us from separate Teams that haven’t each other in a while get together and shoot the shit we pretty much can all say ‘Been there, done that’ to everything and that makes me happy.

  I wouldn’t change my life for a split second, but one thing I wish I had right now is a good woman. I could use the unconditional love of a woman who knows what my life can bring. Someone who won’t be so upset when she wakes up in the morning to an empty bed that she chucks my stuff out onto the lawn to be rained on and picked apart by neighbors and animals. And Chelsi, well I think she is that person, but like I said I’m giving her the time.

  All my friends are still happily talking with Bobby and I take the nearest empty seat, just sitting back, listening and looking around. Chelsi is still sitting in the seat where
I left her after we kissed and the look on her face is puzzling. I can’t tell what she’s thinking and that’s unusual for me. I can usually tell what a person has running around in their brain, but her, she’s a mystery sometimes to me. And when I mean I can read people, I mean read them like a book. On a tour in Iraq a few years back we were tipped off to this local merchant in the village that was near us that was moving guns for the insurgents. So a patrol of us stopped by his shop, a dirt floored general store if you will, just acting as if we were checking in as usual. As soon as I stepped up and asked him how his day was going and how business was in his native language he started sweating buckets.

  Ding, dong. So keeping up the casual conversation the guys has time to look around a bit under the man’s watchful eyes, but didn’t find anything. So for the next week straight we stopped in twice a day, just saying hello while silently searching for something, anything, that could clue us in to if he really was moving the guns or not. Finally on that next Saturday we caught him red handed with three crates of M-16’s in the middle of the night trying to load them onto a truck. As I zip tied his hands behind his back he told me, “I knew you would get me. On the first day you had the look in your eye.”

  I keep to my intuition and it’s never failed me yet. With Chelsi I know she’s using prescription drugs sometimes. I’ve snooped in her medicine cabinet while at her apartment, where I also flushed a baggy with pills in it down the toilet. I know people have their own ways of coping, but drugs, hell no. I haven’t caught her per-say abusing them, but if I do, she’ll never hear the end of it and I will drag her ass to the hospital or treatment center so she can work through it. And I’ll be with her every step of the way if she’ll let me. Hopefully it won’t come to that.